


near misses;

by orphan_account



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demiboy donut, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn, Trans Tucker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which one night and David Washington's awkwardness lead to an embarrassingly large amount of over-complications and mixed emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a night to remember (or, technically, forget)

**Author's Note:**

> (i have no idea what i am doing with this fic. i have never used ao3 before. what am i doing.)  
> this is a vaguely 'love, rosie' inspired au that i may or may not continue? we'll see how it goes i guess?? i hope you like it i am v nervous.

They’re drunk and the whole goddamn world is spinning the first time they kiss.

Technically, neither of them were meant to get drunk. And through the many, many times Washington has imagined their first kiss, none of them involved a situation that included alcohol. Legally, Tucker shouldn’t even be drinking. But it’s amazing what a crappy fake ID can allow you access to. It starts when Tucker waltzes over to Wash with a shit-eating grin on his face and a shot glass containing some neon green concoction in his hand.

“Try iiiiitttt!” Tucker sing-songs, eyes shining dangerously.

“No. A liquid shouldn’t be neon green. That’s wrong. That is poison and you are trying to poison me.” Washington replies, steadily shaking his head and willing himself to not give in to those goddamn beautiful brown eyes.

“Tryyyyy iiiit. C’mon, Davie, please? It’s just a shot!” Tucker pouts, holding the shot closer to his face and batting those long eyelashes that make Wash _weak._ A very, very long pause follows.

“Fine.” Wash resigns, sighing and saying a silent apology to his future self. “You are going to be the death of me, Lavernius Tucker. The fucking _death_ of me.”

And that is how it starts.

Tucker has now been 19 for approximately 13 hours and he’s spent most of them with Wash, laughing and singing and now, apparently, dancing, which mainly consists of grinding and _wow_ it is hot. Wash, despite having what should be two years more experience than Tucker, is completely lost and holding onto Tucker’s hips as if his life depends on it. Lavernius is laughing without a care in the world and it is the sound of angels, of happiness and of love and Wash is fucked and has been fucked for years now. Wash’s love for Tucker said a very large “fuck you” to everything considered platonic and dived head first into the realm of “oh my god I am so in love with you and it is killing me”. But love isn’t the only thing on his mind because really, Tucker’s ass rubbing against his crotch _on purpose_ is not making him think of angels in the slightest.

The music is blasting through the shitty club loud enough to make Wash’s head ache a little and god, is this place too crowded. Tucker turns around out of nowhere, his eyes locked on Wash’s lips and his arms moving to rest over the blonde’s broad shoulders. Wash, ever the oblivious soul, tilts his head in confusion and strains to hear what Tucker might have said to him. Because really, the only sensible explanation of Tucker being this close is to speak and it’s probably about them getting more shots of that goddamn horrendous green whatever it was or something and-

And Washington is being kissed. Hard.

No immediate response from Washington leaves Tucker to pull back quickly, his expression shocked and worried and a drunken apology forming at his lips. That doesn’t last more than 3 seconds, luckily, because Wash crashes back down from the initial shock of the kiss and decides he really wants that to happen again. Like, right now. He pulls Tucker impossibly close, chest to chest and his hands so tight on Tucker’s hips that they could almost bruise. But judging by the whimper Tucker lets out, he’s cool with it. They stay like that, eyes locked for the longest second of Washington’s life before his lips are pushed against Tucker’s. Tucker kisses back greedily, like he’s trying to claim him all for himself, like he’s wanted this for years, just like Washington has. Wash grabs a fist full of Tucker’s hair and tugs lightly, tilting the smaller man’s head to kiss him harder. He bites Tucker’s lower lip between his teeth and is greeted by a very content moan of “ _David.”_ Wash feels Tucker’s hands at his belt loops tugging him somewhere, anywhere, _who gives a fuck_ , if there’s a bed there then Wash is happy. Or a wall. He can work with a wall.

Eventually, a wall is what Wash gets. And damn, Wash decides he can happily work with this. He’s holding one of Tucker’s wrists above his head and that is _hot_ until Tucker wriggles his hand free and locks his fingers with Wash’s, holding his hand tightly. It’s so intimate that Wash’s heart skips a beat or stops beating completely because there it is again, the persistently annoying feeling of being so unbelievably in love with someone and them not knowing. In an attempt to redirect his attention from his heart’s annoying as fuck crush back to his dick and the much more interesting view in front of him, Washington shoves a leg between Tucker’s and feels Tucker’s hips move involuntarily in response as a groan escapes him. In retaliation, Tucker moves to suck and bite along Wash’s neck, leaving dark marks. Wash can feel Tucker’s smirk against his skin and feel his breath against his neck and Wash decides that this is all he wants forever. Fuck college, fuck jobs, fuck having a reliable plan for the future. He’d rather continue doing this, please and thank you. Tucker slips his free hand under the taller man’s shirt, down his abs and closer to his crotch and fuck, Wash might as well just die on the spot because this is the best birthday ever. Of all time. And it’s not even his birthday.

However, as always in the train wreck of David’s life, something goes wrong. Something that would have been hilarious if it hadn’t happened during a make out session that had been occupying Washington’s thoughts for an embarrassing amount of time. Tucker uses all his force to spin them around and manages to get Wash pressed against the wall. He steps back, a stupidly triumphant grin on his face for a second, before he manages to slip and fall to the ground. The man lands like a ten tonne weight and promptly falls unconscious, any and all chances of either of them getting laid flying out the window as his eyes fall shut. And _that_ is what Washington gets for getting his hopes up.

Tucker wakes up properly for the first time since the fall late the next afternoon, groggy, confused and very fucking hungover. Wash sits beside him, equally hungover and every butterfly that ever existed having a party in his stomach. Light floods the room and Tucker squints, his face scrunching up with a look of such complete and utter disgust Wash can’t help but laugh.

“Morning, sunshine.” Wash says with an obviously fake air of cheeriness in his voice, as though he doesn’t have a high chance of having alcohol poisoning from one night alone. Tucker groans, a low and guttural sound from the back of his throat, a sound of someone who has made every single possible mistake in regards to drinking safely. Wash laughs again.

“You, my dude, are an a-grade asshole.” Tucker complains, ever so slowly sitting up in bed. Even a hungover mess, Tucker remains the most beautiful thing Wash has ever seen. A tidal wave of memories of the previous night hit him and he feels his chest tighten, hope and anxiety mixing together in the pit of his stomach in a feeling adequately described by the word “ _fuck.”_

Washington pushes the feeling back as best he can, god help his poor soul, and pushes a glass of water towards Tucker, his voice soft and more serious as he says, “Drink it.”

The other man accepts the glass as if its holy water and chugs it back in a few long gulps, breathing out slowly as he puts the glass down. He blinks a few times, clearing the fog from his brain before allowing himself to smile at Wash.

Shit, Washington was not prepared for that smile. Too much alcohol left in his system, too many memories of Tucker’s lips on his own just the night before, way too much space between Tucker’s lips and his own now. One session of making out and Wash is struggling to be in the same space as Lavernius without being attached at the lips.

Tucker stretches out slowly, yawning and mumbling muffled nonsense before finally speaking proper English. “Dude,” he says, a tone of lazy, easy happiness in his voice, “That was fucking wild. Best. Birthday. Ever.”

“Of all time?”

“Of all fucking time.” Hope floods through Wash’s body, a feeling blossoming in his chest that leaves him feeling like he’s vibrating to the very core. Tucker keeps smiling at him in this knowing way, eyes sharp and intelligent even despite his completely dishevelled state. The same intelligent eyes now raking across Wash’s body, making a blush spread across his body as he becomes hyper aware of the bruises left as a token of Tucker’s handiwork.

“Seems like you had a good time, too, Davie. Look at your neck! Some dude must have been like a fucking vampire on you!” Tucker laughs, bright and happy and oblivious to the sound of Wash’s heart snapping. “I never believed those movies where people say they remember nothing about a night because they were drunk. Holy shit, I was so wrong. All I remember is taking a load of shots and then boom, baby, black screen. Nothing. Nada.”

Okay. This is fine. Washington smiles, building up a wall around his emotions in two seconds flat so he can ignore them until he’s alone. “Well, it was a pretty great night. I’m super glad you had a good birthday, Tucker.”

“Wouldn’t have been anything like as good without my best friend.” He grins, so unaware that each word is shoving a dagger into Wash’s heart. The butterflies in his stomach have turned into scorpions and Wash was not prepared for this. Not in the slightest. This is fine.

“Glad I could be there for it,” Wash stands at that, stretches casually, tries to ignore the fact that his heart continues to shatter. Again, this is fine. Situation normal. “I should go, I think. I wanna sleep and not puke in your toilet. I’ll tell your family you’re alive, and text you later. Get yourself some rest.”

“Fine, _mom._ ” Tucker snorts, his face soft and affectionate as he looks over to the blonde. “I’ll see you soon. Thank you, Wash. Wouldn’t be a birthday without you with me.” Wash smiles, reaching over and ruffling Tucker’s hair as he settles back down in his bed. No more words are said between as he walks out of Tucker’s room, head held high despite everything that he’s feeling. He passes Tucker’s family, greeting them as usual, just like everything is normal. No big deal.

This is something Washington should be used to by now. Acting okay, for one, is something he deals with a lot more than he lets on. But the main dilemma in his life is being head over heels for Lavernius Tucker. They’ve known each other for twelve years now, since they were kids, and it has always been the two of them against the world. Nothing changed in later life, except from the fact that it became “the two of us against the world ft. my huge, overwhelming gay crush.” And that was okay.

Until they made out. And until Tucker didn’t remember the making out.

That, obviously, is a little less okay.

Wash contemplates this for long while, sat alone in his apartment except for the company of his cats. He goes over and over what he can remember in his head, wondering how the hell he ended up here. He thinks about the making out, the alcohol in Tucker’s breath, the clumsiness of drunken hands over his body, the rough marks on his neck and convinces himself it was all just lust, nothing else; it doesn’t count for anything. But then he thinks about the pauses between kisses where Tucker looked into his eyes like they held the depth of a universe, the steadiness and strength of Tucker’s hand in his own, the feeling of his smile against his skin and thinks, what if it meant more?

“Well,” Wash says to an apartment in which he is the only human, exhaling slowly as he scratches lightly under his cat’s chin, “shit.”


	2. a memory (part one)

David Washington is nine years old, and he is scared. It’s his first day at the fourth new school in two years and he has the feeling deep down that this home, this school and the friends he hopes to make are going to last just as long as the others did. That being not long at all. He’s alone and anxious, his twin older sisters already in their classroom together and making friends immediately, as they always do. It’s unfair, David can’t help but think, how easily they fit in to each new place they go. His sisters have always been like two halves of the heart-shaped lockets they wear; if they’re together, they’re complete. They don’t need anyone else, and yet they still manage to make friends anyway.

It’s not fair.

David stands in a corner of the playground, really not knowing what to do with himself. He’s always been shy and the lack of a constant home and constant set of friends amplified that by a billion, making the first day of school always impossibly hard. He looks around at girls in pink dresses playing with skipping ropes, at boys sat on a patch of grass making daisy chains and at the general scene of havoc mixed with happiness. Nervously, he then looks down at himself. He sees his coolest shoes, the ones that light up when he runs, nice trousers with no rips or marks, the _best_ shirt he owns (the Star Wars one with the Millennium Falcon and Luke and Han and Leia and Chewbacca and just a lot of overall awesomeness) and thinks that this _should_ help him make friends. Doesn’t make talking to people first easier at all, though.

He thinks back to what his Mom told him earlier. “Be brave, be happy, be kind. And if you can’t be any of those things, pretend like you are until you feel it for real.” Right. Brave, happy, kind. He can do that. One foot in front of the other, one slow step at a time, David finds himself walking closer and closer to a group of boys playing football. He can do this. He can introduce himself to someone. He can make friends.

“You’re the new kid!” An excited voice erupts out of nowhere, pulling David out of his thoughts. “I’m Donut. My _real_ name is Franklin but that’s boring, and there’s already a Frank in my class. Do you wanna come play with me and my friends?” The boy in front of him grins, bright blue eyes looking up at David with hope. He’s wearing a pink shirt and a purple skirt with some _really_ cool shoes and David needs to remember to ask where he got them.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, please! I’m David.” He smiles back at Donut, hoping that this is a good sign, hoping that this goes well. Donut grins and grabs him by the hand, pulling him in the opposite direction towards an entirely different group of kids.

Two boys are sat together, bickering over a toy car. One is tall, pale, skinny and covered in freckles with neat red hair and glasses sat on his face. The other is really the opposite. He’s got longer, dark hair, with brown eyes and skin to match. His orange shirt is covered in paint splatters and stains, while the other boy’s shirt is as pristine as the rest of his appearance. A girl with the same brown skin as one of the boys sits next to them, chatting away happily to another boy with curly brown hair and dark skin.

“That’s Grif and Simmons arguing, but they do that all the time because they’re dumb. I think they’re gonna get married. The girl is Kai, she’s Grif’s sister. She’s talking to Doc, he’s the _other_ Frank.” Donut turns to Wash after that and grins, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone but I think that _I’m_ gonna marry him.”

David giggles, nodding and glancing over at Doc to see him grin and wave at Donut. He then notices another kid, sat reading a comic only slightly separate from the rest of the group. He taps Donut’s arm, curious. “Who’s she?”

“I’m a boy.” The kid says quickly, causing David to blush. He really needs to work on subtlety. And the concept of an inside voice. “You should call me Tucker, ‘cus I don’t know what my first name is gonna be yet.” He stands up, walking over to where Donut and Wash are stood. He’s got dark skin, pretty brown eyes and immediately and unexplainably, David really hopes they can be friends.

David gulps, taking a moment to find his voice. “Uh, sorry, Tucker. I didn’t mean to call you a girl if you’re not. I’m David. I’m new. I didn’t know, uh--” A blush rises to his face and he gulps again, scared that he’s been mean already without wanting to be at all. To his relief, the younger boy in front of him grins.

“You got a Star Wars shirt on. Which movie’s your favourite?” Tucker asks, eyes shining curiously and David gets the impression that this question is of a much higher importance in regards to a possible future friendship than accidentally calling him a girl is.

“Return Of The Jedi. I think it’s awesome and it shows that even bad guys can still be nice, which is cool.” Tucker grins bright and excitable at the answer, clearly approving. What David did _not_ expect was for once sentence to gain him his first ever best friend.

After begging and pleading and reasoning beyond the skill set of most seven year olds, Tucker is allowed to spend a few days in lessons with David. At the end of each of those few days, Tucker invites David to play. At the end of the first week, Tucker invites David over for a sleepover. By the next week, Tucker has slept over at David’s house twice and David has his first ever nickname. (Wash, he gets called once, after his last name. He doesn’t expect it to stick. It sticks.) By the time a month has passed, they’re best friends. It doesn’t matter that they’re in different grades, not to them at least, because what use is friendship if they don’t have _some_ differences, right?

Wash tells his sisters one night that he’s found his own ‘locket person.’ They don’t understand him, but he at least knows what he means. (And so does Tucker, obviously, because they definitely have a psychic connection.) He proudly tells his Moms everything he does with Tucker, tells them how they plan to become astronauts together and explore the galaxy. Like Luke and Han Solo, Tucker says. He wants them to get a space dog and name it Chewbacca. Wash wants that too, but really, he would be happy with anything as long as he got to spend time with Tucker.

Wash can pinpoint the first time he knew he wanted to stay with Tucker forever. Roughly two and a half months after they became best friends, the two boys are sat together in the shade of an overgrown tree. Wash is pale and burns easily, always has and always will, so he’s lathered under 10 layers of sunscreen. Tucker on the other hand is a lot less protected, grinning happily and relaxing in the summer heat. He lays down, his head resting on David’s lap as he stares up through layers of twisting branches to look at a clear blue sky. Tucker talks about the clouds and what shapes he sees in them, his vivid imagination turning the clouds from blobs of white candyfloss in the sky to dinosaurs, planes, planets and more. He looks down at Tucker and sees warm brown eyes and a bright smile that brings a grin of his own to his face. David feels calm wash over him in waves, the presence of his best friend making him forget about any worries a nine year old boy could possibly face. He sits there, and he feels something a kid should always be able to feel – he feels like he has a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lot shorter and a bit rambly oops i can't help my weakness for baby rvb characters. but YES this is heavily implying that tucker is a trans guy and has known from being a lil kid. donut wears skirts because he can. washington has two moms. fuck the rules.


	3. well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, wash.

Roughly seventeen days ago, David Washington was making out with his best friend. Not that he’s been thinking about it. Constantly. For seventeen days, which is 408 hours, which is 24480 minutes, which is a fucking large amount of seconds, milliseconds, microseconds, nanoseconds and all the other infinitesimal measures of time he has _not_ spent thinking about Tucker. It’s not like he can’t be around Tucker without staring at his lips and having an almost irresistible urge to press his own against them. And against his forehead. And nose. And neck. And collar bones. And chest and stomach and thighs and, oh god, Wash really fucking wants Tucker. This is a problem. He’s reverted back to being a teenager – waking up from dreams that leave his face flushed and having to take way too many cold showers.

But that’s not the half of it. Lust, Wash could handle. Sex is just a thing. Sex isn’t unique to Tucker. He could totally have sex with other guys, if he wanted to. The fact that he’s head over heels a hundred times over is what’s killing Wash slowly. Sure, he’d love to be able to have Tucker against a wall and do things to him that would make him weak at the knees, but that’s not all of it. He remembers the moment when Tucker’s hand latched onto his and their mouths pressed against each other, warm and right and tasting like alcohol but feeling like home. He remembers feeling like every cell in his body, every atom, was set alight, electrocuted; all because of Tucker’s touch. He remembers Tucker’s laughter against his skin, the pure, uncontainable joy bubbling up and overflowing from the younger man. The joy that Washington caused. He remembers the light in Tucker’s eyes when they pulled back from a kiss, their breath mixing and the world narrowing down to the two of them. He craves that intimacy the most. He wants Tucker to be _his,_ he wants to be able to kiss Tucker whenever the fuck he wants, he wants to hold his hand in public and hold him through nights and he wants to tell Tucker how he feels without shame.

It hurts. Before, Wash’s love for Tucker was just _there_. Nothing had been done about it, and nothing was going to be done. Wash had accepted that it sucked and tried his best to be happy for Tucker when he brought home boyfriends and girlfriends and datemates. But now they had kissed. They had kissed and Wash’s body had rewired itself so that being close to Tucker and kissing him was necessary to his survival. It would have hurt if Tucker had remembered it and classed it as a drunken mistake, but at least then Wash could laugh it off and say it was just alcohol that had made him do it, too. But Tucker hadn’t remembered any of it. And that is why it hurts so badly. He’s bitter and upset and angry because he had so much hope that they could have been a thing. He’d hoped Tucker would have wanted them to be together. And for all he knows, Tucker _could_ want that. Yet Wash will never know because he won’t ask, _can’t_ ask if Tucker is in love with him like he’s so hopelessly in love with Tucker.

Basically: it fucking sucks.

And Wash can’t help himself but act different around Tucker, even if he doesn’t mean to. He’s more distant, colder, trying to build up a wall so that he doesn’t fall further for his best friend who probably doesn’t feel the same way. Wash will repeat – it sucks. David, of course, believes he is doing this brilliantly. Subtly. In a way in which nobody would notice. David, as usual, is wrong.

He's with York and North when his little façade shatters, just over a month after it began. Or, more accurately, the façade is literally destroyed and demolished by a 6’5 blonde and his grinning boyfriend. “So,” North begins, his voice already parental and softly authoritative in a manner that Wash hates, “York and I, as well as a few others, have noticed something.”

“Oh, dear god.” Wash groans. “I didn’t realise hanging out with you two meant it became parent’s evening.” He keeps his tone light and playful, ignoring the fact that his heart has started beating harder, more noticeable in his chest than he wants it to be.

“Calm it on the sarcasm, kiddo. We just- “

“North, I’m two years younger than you. Do you _have_ to call me kid all the time? I mean really. C’mon.” Wash cuts in, a grin forced onto his face alongside the desperate attempt to change topic in a casual way.

“Wash, buddy,” York laughs, leaning back against North from where they sit, a smile on his face. “You are so bad at this. So, as your official ‘parents’, we’re worried. Because, dude. You’re really, really bad at hiding how you’re doing. _And_ that habit of yours that doesn’t let you ask for help. What’s going on?”

Wash sighs. Loudly. He sinks back in the old leather couch of his friends’ apartment and thinks for a moment. He sees worried, expectant eyes on him and he knows they want what’s best for him. But 21 years of stubbornness and resilience makes him reluctant to open up to them. “Nothing,” he says, bold and steady. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“David.” He sees North sigh, shaking his head slowly but with a look of fondness in his eyes. “Bad acting. You’re not yourself recently, kid, and it’s obvious. You’ve been kind of an asshole at some points. And at other times, you’re pretty unreachable. You get this brooding look all the time, right? One where your eyebrows are all furrowed together and you’re looking off into the distance as though you’re an angsty teen movie star contemplating the meaning of life.” York snorts beside him then, nodding in agreement and letting his head loll against North’s chest. “So what’s causing it?”

Still, Wash says nothing. Mouth under lock and key. Other people don’t need to be involved in what he’s feeling – they don’t need to be bothered by this. If Wash has to go through this by himself then fine. That’s fine. Worse has happened.

York’s voice breaks through his silent determination, soft and without the usual tone of sarcasm and cockiness, “Tucker is worried about you.”

Wash feels a knife stab into his heart and twist. Tucker. It always comes back to Tucker. He sees North and York looking at him expectantly, their faces etched with confusion and worry, knowing then that something _has_ happened between them.

“We kissed.” Washington’s voice surprises himself; the admission of it aloud making it real. Too real. He feels the urge to steal the words from the air and force them down, keep them captive once more. But the look on his friends faces let him know it’s too late for that.

For a second, York is unreadable. Then all at once, a grin takes over all his features at once. Literally, all of them. The brightness of his smile reaches his eyes and could possibly be flooding through his veins when he laughs. “Fucking finally! Dude,” he speaks quickly, happiness in his voice “How long have we been waiting for that? Oh my God. It’s so obvious you’ve wanted to for, like, _years_. Is that why you two are all distant? Is it secret relationship type stuff?”

North is smiling, too, a proud and soft smile so full of gentle happiness for Wash that it could bring him to fucking tears. “He doesn’t remember.”

A pause. A long one.

“…What?” York asks, the grin falling from his face and the light in his eyes fading quickly. He sinks against North more, confusion masking his features. North wears a similar expression, one of worry. The instinctive protectiveness of an older brother setting in quickly as he waits patiently for Wash to answer, his arm tightening slightly around York. He’s nervous on Wash’s behalf, Wash can tell. He’s known North long enough to sense that shift in his body language.

“He doesn’t remember.” Wash repeats, sighing and dropping his gaze to the floor, not wanting to see pity in his friends’ eyes. “It was his birthday. We were drunk. We kissed. Like, a lot. And it was fucking amazing and I thought it meant something but he fell over and passed out for the night and when he woke up and I was so hopeful but he saw hickeys on my neck and thought someone else gave me them so he remembers nothing and- Fuck. Goddammit.”

Wash puts his head in his hands, the words falling out his mouth rapidly before he can stop them. He grips at his hair tightly, grounding himself, refusing to let tears fall. Rule number one for Washington is to never cry in front of people. Ever.

“Shit, buddy…” York says quietly, huffing out a breath before continuing. “That blows. God. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” North agrees. He’s thinking, Wash knows that without looking at him. After a considerable pause he sighs and begins to speak again. “You love him, don’t you? If this was nothing more than a kiss it wouldn’t be having this much effect on you. Nothing else I’ve ever seen has made you draw away from Tucker. Nothing.”

Washington feels himself nodding, the confession of the fact making his heart ache. It’s as though a hand has gasped his heart and squeezed it tightly, suffocating it and draining the life from him. “Yeah.” Wash says, hearing the defeat in his own voice. “I love him. So fucking much. I hate my stupid goddamn emotions. Everything would be _fine_ if I just loved him as a friend but, no, that’s not it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can barely look at him. I just… Love him. Everything about the asshole.”

Saying it aloud is strange, Wash realises. He’s spent so long hiding the fact that he’s in love with Tucker that now that it’s known, he wants to scream it from the rooftops. He wants the world to know that he is in love with Lavernius Tucker. Yet at the same time he wants it to be just his secret again. He wants that love bundled up, hidden in his chest for him only. The world is a rough place, David knows that from experience, and he knows what the world can do to love. He doesn’t want it broken.

“You need to talk to him.” North says. Bringing him back to reality once more. “I know you don’t want to. I know you’d rather just suffer in silence. But you need to realise you’re not the only one this distant new personality of yours affects. Think of all your friends. We’ve been worried. Think of _him_.”

There is no need for clarifying who that ‘him’ is meant to be. _I don’t think of anything_ other _than him_. Wash feels the words on his lips, yet doesn’t say them. He’s not quite ready for a confession like that, not just yet.

“North is right. And you know that, Davie. You’re smart.” York smiles at him encouragingly, reaching his legs out to nudge Wash’s foot. “Tucker is kind of a player, yeah, but you said you thought it meant something. Follow your gut instinct. For all you know, Tucker might be in the same place you are right now. C’mon. What’s the worst that can happen?”

He has _plenty_ of ideas for that. Tucker could end up despising him. He could lose his best friend. He could lose his favourite person, his one constant, the person who still makes the shitty town they live in feel like _home._ But with York and North’s eyes settled on him, he can’t say any of that. Instead he just sighs. “A lot could go wrong, York.”

“Or, it could go really right.” North smiles. He’s so paternal that it _hurts_. “You have to tell him. It’s not fair on either of you to keep this locked up. I want to see both of you idiots happy again, and god knows that you make each other happy. Don’t you think it’s worth a shot at least? I know I don’t know Tucker as well as you do, but I do know he cares about you. He’s told us that. And even if he doesn’t feel the same, I know he would stay by your side.”

Something strange starts to happen then. Washington feels himself slowly being connived that, hey, telling your best friend you’re in love with them isn’t such a bad idea. As York and North work as tag team and talk about how it could all go so well, he finds himself nodding along in agreement. He finds himself planning to tell Tucker. He finds himself _excited_ to tell Tucker. Because really, Tucker wouldn’t have kissed him if it hadn’t meant something, right? And maybe this whole time since, Tucker has been waiting for Washington to say something first. There are an infinite amount of maybe’s and what if’s and there is no way David can see what will happen unless he goes all out and opens up. For once in his life, not being the coward.

Kind of heroic, right?

“I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna say something.” Wash says eventually, admitting aloud and making it final. He’s going to do something. Doesn’t know what yet, but he knows it’s going to happen. Soon. York and North practically cheer as he stands up from their couch, determined and trying not to doubt himself for once.

“You got this, kiddo. Let us know how it goes.” North says, shifting York away from him and standing as David does, moving to hug him tightly. When they pull apart he gives Wash an encouraging smile.

Wash nods and grins, waving quickly to the two of them before he heads to the door to leave. This is going to go well, he reassures himself. It has to.

“Ah, ouch, fuck me.” He hears just before the door shuts behind him, North cursing as he trips and stumbles over the corner of a chair.

He hears York’s easy laughter and smile as he speaks, teasing his boyfriend. “Later, babe. We can do that later.”

As Wash walks out of their apartment and pulls out his phone to text Tucker, he finds himself grinning. He could have that someday. Someday soon, he hopes.

Before he knows it, David’s feet have carried him to Tucker’s house. He knocks on the door and waits, holding back anxiety and refusing to back down now. It is much too late to run away from this one. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. Right? Maybe? Hopefully?

Wash starts regretting his decision.

Tucker is the one who answers the door, wearing old sweats and an oversized shirt that makes him look way too cute. Fuck him for always looking cute, Wash can’t help but think. It makes his life about a billion times more difficult. His hair is up in a bun, giving wash full view of his face lighting up immediately as he sees the taller man at the door. “Hey, asshole,” he grins, tugging Wash inside and into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Wash melts. He wraps his arms around Tucker’s middle and rests his chin on his head, breathing in the unmistakeable scent of Tucker slowly. God, had he missed this. “Sorry I haven’t been around,” is the lame excuse that forms first. It’s not enough, but he knows Tucker won’t mind. He’s here now, at least. “I missed you too. I have, uh, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Ditto. A _lot_ has happened in the last week or two.” Tucker laughs, the sound making Wash’s heart leap. As always. He leads Wash upstairs and to his bedroom, flopping against the bed lazily and stretching out like a cat. “So who goes first?”

“Goes first for what?” Wash asks, confused, too busy taking in the sight of Tucker. He is way too distracting for his own good.

“To reveal their news, idiot. Duh.” He laughs, rolling his eyes and turning to look at Wash as he sits on the end of the bed. “I’m interested in yours.”

 David grins, he can’t help himself; teasing Tucker is second nature by now. “Then you go first, because I’m an asshole and I’m going to make you wait for it.”

Tucker groans and nudges Wash with his foot, not hard enough to hurt. “Asshole, you’re the worst. But _fine_. You ready for my news?” Chuckling, Wash nods. Tucker always had a flair for the dramatics and this is proving no different. He can see Tucker pausing, purposefully drawing out time, making Wash wait to see his reaction. Eventually, what feels like years later, he opens his mouth and speaks.

“I, Lavernius Tucker, your best friend, the one and only, the world renowned player… Have a boyfriend. Kind of. I guess.”

_Fuck._

Tucker is grinning so brightly, shifting to sit up and move closer to Wash. “His name is Felix,” Washington tries not to cry. He tries not to swear. He tries not to get up and leave. He tries so hard not to despise Felix already. “I met him a few weeks ago. He’s… Pretty fucking cool. He’s your age, maybe a few months younger. He’s got all these piercings and tattoos and oh my god, he is _pretty_ hot.”

Internally, Washington screams. He yells. He kicks the fuck off. He explains that, _no_ , this isn’t fair. He tells Tucker that they kissed. That Tucker kissed _him_. He tells Tucker that he’s in love with him and prays that Tucker feels the same, and that this _Felix_ is just some backup.

Externally, Washington nods. He smiles. He asks questions. He says he’s happy for Tucker. He acts fine.

He’s really not fine.

Tucker’s voice turns into white noise as he rambles on about Felix happily, talking about how they met and how they went on a date and how they’ve kissed and Wash tries hard not to feel like Tucker is kicking him with every word spoken. Tucker shows him a picture of Felix, and despite himself, Wash already hates him. He doesn’t want to be bitter, but he is. He’s never met Felix, he doesn’t want to meet Felix, and hearing Tucker talk about him _hurts._

Washington is quick to excuse himself after Tucker finishes speaking. “Caboose just messaged me,” he lies expertly, smoothly, voice calm despite the storm in his head. “He needs help and I don’t want him to set the apartment block on fire.”

“What about your news?” Tucker asks, a grin on his face. “You don’t get away that easy.”

“Oh, yeah. That. No big deal.” He waves his hand dismissively before standing. “It kinda pales in comparison to yours, anyway. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

He ruffles Tucker’s hair quickly before he leaves, not another word being said. He doesn’t want to answer Tucker’s questions. He doesn’t want to see Tucker’s expression. He wants, more than ever before, to be away from him.

Wash knows he should let himself be happy for Tucker. Part of him genuinely _is_ happy for him. Tucker’s happiness has always been the top priority for him, always, right from when they were careless little kids. He’s happy that Tucker’s happy. He’s happy that Tucker is going to love and be loved. He’s happy that Tucker is going to be cared for. He’s happy that Tucker is going to be given everything he deserves.

It just hurts like a bitch that he can’t be the one to love Tucker openly, proudly and be loved by Tucker in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS A FUCKING LONG ONE I AM SORRY. oh man. this took a while. i am awful at updating frequently. i am just making wash suffer. and yet you people read this. i love u.


	4. the plan

_Bittersweet_.

The official definition is pleasure mixed with pain. To Washington, that is the pleasure of watching the person he’s in love with be loved and happy and cared for mixed with the pain of knowing that it is not because of him. It’s being able to see Tucker smile so much that he glows, but having to know it’s another person to bring that grin to his face. It’s as though he’s watching a movie of Tucker’s life; able to see happiness but unable to be a part of it.

His love for Tucker manifests itself in the form of a physical ache. It used to feel like warmth and home and longing, as though his heart was being held tightly. It hurt, but in a good way. With Felix on the scene, it feels like an emptiness in his chest. He feels as though someone has taken the light from inside of him and replaced it with darkness and nothingness. He’s not alone, not by far. He still has his best friend. He has York and North – who it’s safe to say feel pretty fucking bad about the advice they gave him – and he has others to talk to and be around.

He's not alone, but god does he feel lonely.

Emotions have never been Wash’s strong point, either. And so, he refuses to deal with them. And in his case, that means postponing meeting Felix as much as humanly possible. Washington’s mantra of ‘this is fine’ repeats itself to this situation, too. Is it petty and immature? Yes. Does he care? No. It’ll all be fine. Fuck Felix, anyway. He doesn’t have to meet him to know that he won’t like the guy.

Washington hates how much he thinks about it, though. He thinks about all the things he could be doing with Tucker and how Felix gets to do them instead. He pictures kissing Tucker on mornings to wake him up, imagines making him coffee and coaxing him out of bed with it. He wonders if Felix knows that Tucker isn’t a morning person. He imagines Tucker in his hoodies and shirts, all of which would hang off him. He thinks about taking Tucker on dates and holding his hand in public and being able to call him _his._

Washington realises he’s torturing himself with this shit. He doesn’t stop, though. His moms always told him to hold onto hope, so that’s what he’s doing. Even though at sometimes it feels more like clinging desperately onto a dream longing to be forgotten when morning comes.

He continues to do the asshole thing for two weeks. He makes excuses time and time again to get him out of meeting Felix. He dives head first into work, training, anything to occupy his mind. He spends a lot of time in the local gym, ideas of a military life pushing thoughts of Tucker and Felix out of his head for the most part. It’s not healthy, what he’s doing. _No shit,_ he thinks when reminded of that fact. He tries not to care.

Sadly, when Lavernius Tucker is involved, it’s really goddamn hard for Washington not to care.

Washington is walking towards the exit of his gym on a Monday afternoon when his asshole plan is ruined by the asshole causing it. His earphones are in and he’s minding his own goddamn business, ready to go home, feed his cats and read. _Damn,_ he sounds old, even to himself. But hey, when you’re avoiding important life events that involve your closest friend, your spare time can’t really be that interesting. Just as his hand touches the door, he feels a smaller hand grip his shoulder a bit too tightly for his comfort. He takes one earphone out and turns round, confused.

To say he’s unhappy with the sight he’s greeted with would be an understatement.

The man in front of him is short but well-built, and Wash hates that he can immediately see why Tucker would find him attractive. The skin Washington can see is covered in intricately designed tattoos, patterns and flowers and animals and writing in what looks like Korean. His eyes are amber but appear gold, rich and beautiful. But they’re too sharp, Wash thinks, feeling as though the other man’s gaze is cutting into his soul. His hair is dark but streaked with orange, bright and bold like fire. Attention seeking. His face is adorned with piercings, metal turning what could be soft features harsh and dangerous.

“Hi! Sorry to interrupt, but you’re David Washington, aren’t you?” The man says, voice smooth and easy, confidence radiating off of him. “I’m Felix. As in, Lavernius’ boyfriend? He’s told me _so_ much about you.”

Felix flashes a shark-like grin and runs a hand through dyed orange hair. David remembers learning that dangerous animals and insects display bright colours to show they’re poisonous.

“Hey.” Wash says, hoping he can force _some_ casual façade of emotion into his voice. He pushes a smile onto his face despite knowing that it won’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, Tucker’s mentioned you to me, too. It’s nice to finally meet.”

He holds out a hand and Felix shakes it, his grip just a little too tight. Or maybe Wash is imagining things. “By the way,” Felix smirks slightly as he speaks, the corner of his mouth tilted. “Are you _really_ listening to Wannabe? Y’know, by the Spice Girls? I would’ve thought someone as… uh, _macho_ as you would listen to something else.”

 _Shit._ Washington forgot that the earphone currently dangling out of his ear was indeed still playing music. Loudly. So loudly, apparently, that certain assholes can hear it. He flushes right across his face and down to his neck, probably covering his chest too. Thank god he put a shirt on. “What? Uh, no? That’s- that’s not- I mean, what?”

 _Nice one, David,_ he curses himself, _real smooth recovery there._

The shark smile returns as Felix raises an eyebrow. “Hm, really? Because I’m pretty sure I just heard the word _zigazig_ from your earphones there.” Washington quickly turns of the music and pulls out his earphone. Fuck, does he hate this guy already.

(He refuses to admit he might be biased.)

“Anyway,” Felix continues as Washington wishes he’d shut the hell up. “Since you’re here! We should arrange some time for all of us to spend time together. Maybe a double date of sorts? You could bring any lady friends you have along, just to make it even.”

“I’m gay.” David states, trying desperately to hide the bitterness he feels. He couldn’t really explain _why_ he’s bitter if he was asked to, but still. The bitterness is there. “No lady friends.”

“ _Oh._ ” Felix says delicately and Wash swears he sees something unreadable in his eyes. “Then a boyfriend of sorts, maybe! Either way. How about I tell Vern you’re coming round this evening? About six would work for us.”

Felix shouldn’t be allowed to call Tucker that. ‘Vern.’ Wash has been calling Tucker that for years, especially in more intimate moments between the two of them. Felix has been dating Tucker for a few weeks. He does _not_ get to call Tucker that. No way.

Before Washington can even begin to form a reply, Felix keeps talking. Wash finds himself wondering if this guy ever shuts up. “Well, I better be going. Things to do, people to see. You have _no_ idea how much I’m looking forward to tonight.”

Just like that, he’s gone. Washington finds himself glaring daggers into Felix’s back, hating the confidence he shows just while walking. It’s unfair.

“Shit.” Wash says to himself. “I am not being a third wheel here. No way in hell.”

He leaves the gym and begins to head home quickly, no time to waste doing anything else. Only time for action. The jog home is full of plans and ideas, many of them being scrapped as soon as they pop into his head because they’re either stupid, dangerous or illegal. Some plans are all three. Many of the plans involve kissing Tucker. A lot. Right in Felix’s face, a big old “fuck you” to the pin cushion lookalike asshole.

Washington makes a mental note to keep that insult to himself. For now, at least.

He finally sprawls out on his bed at 3pm, having only three hours before he has to see the man he loves be happy with someone else. That is, inevitably, going to be the worst thing ever. Of all time. He knows himself well enough to know that if Tucker and Felix kiss, he’ll want to do something stupid. That something could include violence or tears and maybe result in him losing his best friend, which is not prepared to let happen. But Washington is stubborn and downright refuses to spend a night alone feeling sorry for himself while watching a couple be all cutesy and shit.

He’s going to feel sorry for himself with a fake boyfriend. Because really, what the hell has he got to lose? His dignity went out the window longer ago than he can remember.

“So, uh, Frank. You know how you owe me a favour?” Wash says down the phone, chewing on his lip hopefully yet nervously and watching his cats wander around his bedroom. Skylar, his beautiful Siamese cat, occupies herself with a shoelace happily. Ari, the older tabby, paces around the room impatiently. Funny. It’s almost as if she can pick up on Wash’s tension, he thinks.

“Uh, yeah?” Comes the reply, the other man’s voice full of confusion. “Why? Oh God. Do I have to operate on someone? Is this illegal? Wash, you know we’re friends, but you gotta understand---“

“No, Doc, it’s nothing like that.” Wash cuts his rambling off with a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. This was going to be a long day. “I need you to be my boyfriend.”

“Your _what?!_ ” Doc exclaims, making choking noises and shocked stutters. “Wash, like I said, we’re friends but- _What?!”_

“It’s for one night, Frank. Please _._ I will literally pay you if I have to. I just--“ He sighs, only realising how petty his plan is as he has to say it aloud. “Tucker has a boyfriend and I want to make him jealous. Before you start screaming, yeah, I like Tucker. And yes, it’s in the gay way. Or however you’d phrase it. But _please._ For one night.”

Washington is greeted with a long pause. He can practically feel Doc thinking it over, weighing his options out in front of him. Finally, he hears a sigh. “Fine. But I expect you to help out in my garden in return for this. And I’m only doing it for love. So if you and Tucker don’t end up together, I am _not_ going to be pleased.”

“Deal. Thank you. You are literally saving my life here. Be here at 5:30, okay?”

“Okay… sweetie. Ew, that feels wrong. I’m not calling you that. Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for a shorter chapter again! this fic is really infrequent but i swear, it'll get done eventually. i love you all and as always, your comments are so appreciated <3


	5. the worst date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is v late i'm sorry! i was away for a week and also my brain kinda sucks so i can't say how frequently this is going to be updated for a while, but i really love this fic and i'm so thankful to everyone who reads it <3

True to his word, Doc knocks at Washington’s apartment at 5:29. A minute early. When Washington answers the door, he’s torn between grinning and wincing at the sight in front of him. Bless his heart, it’s obvious Doc has put an effort in. His usually unruly brown hair has been combed back to some degree of neatness, or as much as it can be. He wears a purple shirt and nice trousers, much different to the usual jeans and t-shirt he’s seen in. The poor guy has even brought Wash some flowers. It both breaks Wash’s heart and makes it swell, the fact that Doc cares enough to do this for him.

“Well, uh. I’m ready for maybe the most embarrassing night of my life!” Doc says, and Wash realises he’s just been staring. He smiles then, apologetically, and takes the flowers. He runs a hand through his hair and then steps aside to allow Doc in.

Doc enters nervously and stands at least a foot away from Wash, arms glued to his sides now that he has nothing to fiddle with. Ari and Skylar rush to him and curl around his legs as Wash takes in the sight before him.

“Doc. Man. Words can’t begin to describe how grateful I am that you’re doing this for me. Really, it means so much. But, uh – maybe you could try looking less like you want to chug a glass of bleach?” He suggests, a little more than somewhat untactfully. When Doc looks offended, he tries again.

“Look. We’re meant to be going on a date. As a new couple. And, though I’ve not had much experience with dating,” Wash attempts, ignoring Doc’s grumble of ‘ _understatement of the century_ ’, “I’m pretty sure we’re both meant to look happy?”

“Oh, _yeah_ , Wash. Sure. Let me just fall in love with you right now, for this one fake date. Do you want to get fake married next?” Doc snaps back, pushing his glasses up his nose. Poor guy, Wash thinks.

“No – look, Doc,” David sighs. He sits down heavily on his couch and runs a hand through blonde hair tiredly, suddenly feeling a lot more pessimistic about this plan. And about life in general. His cats sense the shift in mood and walk to him, curling up by his side. “This is… a fucking ridiculous plan. I get that.”

Doc pauses before sitting nearby. Wash doesn’t look, but he hears a soft sigh from the other man. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I love him. Tucker, that is. And now he’s got a boyfriend who seems like an asshole and yes, I’m biased, I know, but he _does._ And I’ve been invited to spend time with them. To spend time with the guy you’re in love with and his boyfriend – does that sound fun to you?”

Wash looks to Doc, waits, and sees his expression soften. He nods slightly and Washington continues, “It’s an awful plan but… If I go alone, I’ll do something stupid. I’ll tell Tucker I love him or yell at Felix or even worse, I’ll cry and I can’t do that, Doc. No way.”

Silence falls in Washington’s apartment, Doc wordless beside Wash, and he thinks that he must seem utterly pathetic. He thinks that love is an asshole. He thinks that _he_ is an asshole for not letting Tucker just be happy without faking happiness for himself. He puts his hands on his knees and lets his eyes fall to the ground, his brain wandering off to what could have been and what should be and what could be and all the other things that, undoubtedly, will come back to Tucker.

Doc reaches over and squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry, Wash… I wish – I wish you didn’t have to do this. But y’know, Tucker _does_ love you. More than anyone. Even if it’s, uh, not in the romance-y way. I’ll try act all couple-like with you, okay? I’ll do my best.” Doc says softly, in the nurse voice of his. It’s kind of nice to hear. It’s motherly, almost.

He stands then, and holds his hand out to David. He smiles brightly and it’s impossible to tell if it’s fake or genuine or even if there’s pity behind it but at this point, Wash doesn’t care. A smile is a smile. He takes Doc’s hand and stands, a smile tugging at the corner of lips when the shorter man beside him links their arms together.

“After you, my lovely date.” Doc says. Wash laughs.

It almost feels natural.

The two make their way to Washington’s car, an old and battered thing that he got for his eighteenth birthday. It was his sister’s - Katie’s, not Anna’s - and even though it’s kind of a piece of junk, he can’t bring himself to get rid of it. After a long and semi-awkward drive, they pull up outside Felix’s apartment building.

They step out of the car together and Wash _shudders._ The feeling doesn’t disappear as they make their way to the Felix’s front door and he feels his stomach twist uneasily, his thoughts desperately trying to run out of his control. Not tonight, Wash thinks. Not until you’re alone.

Almost as though Doc is a mind reader, he squeezes Wash’s hand comfortingly. A reminder that he’s there. “You sure you want to do this? We can back out. Say one of us got ill.” He suggests carefully. Wash notices a bit of hope in his voice, too.

“No. Too late now. And, hell, it’s only a few hours, right? It can’t be too bad.”

Fatal words.

After only one knock at the door, Felix is there in all his asshole glory.

(Again, Wash isn’t biased. It’s fine. Shut up.)

His hair is gelled back and the orange seems brighter than it was before, standing out against otherwise black hair. His face is covered in makeup and he looks annoyingly good – perfectly winged eyeliner, some lipstick, blush, eyeshadow all coming together to make it hard _not_ to stare at him. He _is_ beautiful. The piercings covering his face glint in the light when he smiles.

“Welcome!” He says enthusiastically, grinning at Wash with that shark grin. Again. It’s vaguely threatening. Felix’s gaze moves to Doc and he gasps so over-dramatically that Wash practically kills himself holding back a sigh. “And who are _you?_ Oh my god, how _sweet_ , you must be David here’s boyfriend!”

Doc smiles and shifts awkwardly, his hand finding Wash’s again and Wash is certain that this time, it’s to comfort both of them. “Uh, hi. You must be Felix. Is, uh, is Tucker here? He doesn’t know about us, yet. Since this is a new thing. We’d like to let him know, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh of _course!_ ” Felix drawls out before stepping aside and allowing the ‘couple’ into his apartment. Which may just be _the_ most over the top place in the universe. Really, Felix has a thing for orange and black and gold. And showing off the fact that he’s apparently rich as hell.

Great.

Doc and Wash sit hesitantly on one of Felix’s couches and share a glance before assuming a pose they hope passes them off as a couple. Wash’s arm falls across Doc’s shoulders and the medic cuddles into his side, making himself comfortable. It’s almost pleasant.

“Lavernius, baby,” Felix calls and Wash flinches, jealousy stabbing him in the gut and making it hard not to scowl. _That could be me,_ he thinks as Felix continues. “Your friends are here and they have an announcement!”

“One second!” Tucker shouts back. Wash’s heart explodes. No big deal. “I’m stuck in these fuckin’ – _ow! Fuck! –_ stupid goddamn skinny jeans. I’m getting changed. It’s David, I don’t care how I look round him.”

A few minutes of awkward small talk pass before Tucker steps out into the living room and Wash is reminded how fucked he is. Screwed. Destroyed. Hopeless. All because Tucker is there and as always, he is beautiful. His hair is tied up in a bun and he’s wearing his favourite old shirt and jeans, the ones he always wore on movie nights or when he and Wash had to stay up late to study for exams.

Doc nudges him lightly to let him know that he’s staring and Wash is brought back to earth and back to reality. Not a fun place to be. Tucker beams at them, his smile bright and genuine and Washington tries hard to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re actually here! Dude. I thought you’d bail on us.” He’s like a livewire. Wash can see the happiness turning him into a ball of energy as he walks over to the couch. “I’ve been missing you. Seriously, man, you go MIA again and I may have to kick your ass.”

A chuckle escapes Wash before he can stop it and he’s smirking, an eyebrow raised at Tucker’s declaration. “I’d like to see you try, Tucker.”

In that one moment, everything feels right. A jigsaw with all the pieces in place. Tucker is grinning at him and laughing and looks adorable and this is how it should be. Forever. Nothing else matters when Washington can make Tucker smile. It feels like the world gets smaller and smaller, until it’s just the two of them. No Felix, no Doc, no shitty tension between them. Just friends.

Then Tucker finally notices Doc. And he notices Wash’s arm around Doc. And how Doc is cuddled into Wash’s side.

“Uh. Wait. You two. You’re not. Are … Wait, what?” He asks, confusion starkly obvious in his voice. He furrows his eyebrows and his forehead creases in the way it always does when he wants to say something but is holding it back. He looks to Wash, dark brown eyes open for a moment and Wash swears he sees _something_ in them – he just doesn’t know what that something is.

“Yeah, uh, we’re a couple now!” David smiles, turning to look at Doc and feeling an overwhelming surge of relief when he sees Doc looking at him like some love-struck teen. Great acting on his behalf. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Lav, I swear. I was going to soon. This is, uh… it’s new. Really new.”

The flash of _something_ in Tucker’s eyes is there again but this time, it masks the whole of his face. But only for a moment. Soon a grin returns Tucker is nodding, nudging Wash’s foot and looking over at Doc. “I gotta admit, I’m kind of surprised. You two being a couple never really crossed my mind but, hey, when have I ever known my shit?”

When Tucker laughs at himself then, it’s slightly uneasy.

-

Not much happens during the night, much to Wash’s happiness and apparently, Felix’s dismay. They make small talk and watch some shitty Netflix documentary about tattoos or whatever the fuck that nobody except Felix cares about. The two couples sit at opposite ends of the couch, Doc never leaving Wash’s side. Deep down, the two of them know their couple act isn’t all that realistic. At all. But it’s better than Wash being alone, that’s for sure. Frank is quiet for the most part, except from when he leans to Wash’s ear to whisper sarcastic comments about Felix whenever he gets the chance.

(Asshole point proven. Wash isn’t the only one that hates Felix.)

At one point, though, Felix adds the icing to the top of Washington’s “I Think Felix is a Huge, Gigantic Prick” cake in the worst way possible. Wash lifts his head from mumbling to Doc to see Felix kissing Tucker. And of course, that hurts. It makes Wash ache with the urge to kiss Tucker again. The shittiest thing is that the kiss isn’t the worst of it. While Wash watches them for a moment, unable to look away, Felix’s eyes meet his own.

Felix doesn’t look away.

Felix kisses Tucker while looking at Wash with too much knowledge in his eyes.

Felix kisses Tucker while looking dangerous.

-

When the time comes and Wash and Doc leave, David swears he sees that _something_ in Tucker’s eyes again. He’s stepping back from hugging Tucker when he sees it and again, it’s only for a moment. The look on his face is so open for a moment, it is so many things at once. But before Wash can even begin to decipher what Tucker is feeling and thinking, Tucker slams closed the shutters to his brain. His face goes back to a casual smile, like nothing else was ever there.

It’s as though he’s chasing the answer to just what Tucker is feeling but it’s just out of reach. It’s the first time in his life that Tucker has been unreadable to him.

-

Wash wakes up at 3am to a phone call from Tucker.

“Are you really dating Doc?” He asks immediately. No ‘hello.’ No ‘sorry I woke you up.’ Nothing except the frantic tone in his voice when he asks the question.

And then there’s Washington, half asleep still and thinking about how nice it’d be to be asleep right now. Or how nice it’d be to be asleep next to Tucker. Man, that’d be nice.

“David. Hey. Dude. Wake up. Are you really?” Tucker asks again, his voice insistent and anxious and Wash is way too tired to try figure out _why_ he’s so worked up about this.

“Wh—What are you talking ‘bout, Vern? ‘s early. Sleep.” The blond mumbles into his phone, rubbing at his eyes.

“I can’t. And you haven’t answered me.”

“Fine, ugh, oh my god,” Wash groans and his three in the morning brain takes over all logic. All impulses to lie go away when the brain is barely awake, apparently. He mumbles nonsense for a moment before finding words somewhere in his head. “I’m not. I didn’t wanna show up and be alone, ‘kay? It’s dumb. I know. Whatever.”

Radio silence from the other end of the line makes Wash wake up and worry more.

“Tucker? Hey… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied ‘n’ shit, I know, ‘s dumb… Are you mad?”

More nothing.

“Tucker?”

“Don’t worry, asshole, I’m not pissed.” He’s telling the truth; that’s evident immediately. That _something_ is in his voice now, too. Wash still doesn’t know what it is. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that, okay? I shouldn’t have made you come. But I’m glad you did.”

“Oh. Well… I’m glad you’re not pissed. It _was_ a stupid plan.”

“Yeah,” Wash can hear his smile. “Doc totally isn’t your type either. Be more convincing next time.”

Wash scoffs and smiles sleepily, pushing back the urge to tell Tucker he loves him. “I’ll keep that in mind. Night, Vern.”

“Night, David… I missed you. I’ll see you soon.”

Tucker hangs up the phone. Washington falls asleep again, wishing Tucker were beside him. Wondering what the _something_ is. Hoping that the _something_ is there, and it’s not just him imagining it.

Hoping, more than anything, that the _something_ is what he wants it to be.


	6. a memory (part two)

David Washington is just turned sixteen and he might be the calmest he’s ever been. He sits in the bedroom of his best friend, Lavernius Tucker, on what Tucker insisted should be a ‘best friend hangout day.’ David knows Tucker just wanted to see him and have another excuse to put off his homework, but that’s fine with him. As long as he gets to see Tucker, he’s happy. More than happy. It’s blissful.

He lays on his back across Tucker’s bed, his head resting in the younger boy’s lap as he plays some video game that involves cars and guns and is way too bloody for Wash’s taste. While Tucker grunts and complains, swearing at the game in frustration at each missed kill, David reads. Or he pretends to. In reality, he’s much more entertained – and distracted by -  the looks on Tucker’s face. The way he bites his lip and creases when he focuses, the grin on his face when he wins, the look of _betrayal_ when, god forbid, he loses. It’s way too cute and way too easy to stare at.

Lavernius is fourteen, soon to be fifteen and without a doubt the best friend Wash has ever had. They’ve known each other for seven years now and been inseparable for the entirety of it. Through school and different grades, through family problems, through the start of Tucker’s transition and him changing his name, and through Anna leaving with the army, they stuck together. Whenever anything goes wrong, they have each other, and without a doubt, it will stay that way. Forever.

To David, Tucker is the human embodiment of everything still _good_ in his world. He’s laughter at midnight and warmth after a snowstorm and listening to rain from the comfort of a café. He is constant and always there, never more than a phone call or a twenty-minute walk away. When Anna left, there was a large and painful sister-shaped gap in his life and, for a while, he thought it wouldn’t be filled and the hurt wouldn’t ease until she came home. Tucker proved him wrong. It still hurts and of course, he misses her, but it could be worse – if he didn’t have Tucker, it would be so much worse.

In his heart, David knows that what he feels for Tucker isn’t _just_ a love for his friend. It hasn’t been for around a month now. Logically thinking – and to nobody’s surprise, Wash is a logical person – he knows that what he’s feeling is a crush. Just a small one. Not a big deal. However, there’s always been just something about Tucker that makes logic jump out the window of Wash’s head and run the fuck away. It’s hard to pass stuff off as completely heterosexual when Wash’s heart skips a beat when their hands brush. It’s even harder to pass it off as heterosexual when a repetitive thought in his head these days is, “hey, wouldn’t it feel really fucking nice to kiss Lavernius Tucker, your best friend who you’ve known for pretty much forever?”

Calm the fuck down, gay thoughts.

And here it is again, Wash thinks. The oncoming panic of wanting to kiss someone you shouldn’t want to kiss. Oh, and the fact that Tucker still doesn’t know he’s gay.

‘No big deal’ is kind of becoming the motto of Washington’s life, especially in situations where, yeah; it’s kind of a big fucking deal.

Sexuality is still something David is attempting to come to terms with. It’s fluid and confusing and there are so many things that people could be, so many different labels that he’s tried. As soon as he clicked onto the fact that he wasn’t straight, that label felt like it was suffocating him. It felt like a word forced upon him that wasn’t right; a word that wasn’t his. He tried bisexual for a while, then, but that didn’t work. It felt like clothes two sizes too small. It wasn’t right. So many labels failed because he thought, for a long time, that he absolutely had to like girls.

But he doesn’t.

In the simplest and bluntest way, Wash knows that he’s gay. He likes dudes. Wants to kiss boys. Wants to kiss Tucker. It’s a lot for him to take in at once and it’s something he’s always known, in some ways, but never had a name for it. Turns out that the name for it is being gay as _fuck._

Emphasis on the gay as _fuck_ because, from where he’s laid now, those gay intrusive thoughts are coming back to him. Looking up at Tucker and being able to see his lips, those stupidly kissable lips, turn up into a grin is killing him slowly. Tucker is an art gallery and Wash wants to admire the whole of it with his lips and, wow, this stupid crush needs to die soon. Curse him and his stupid teenage thoughts that do not make it easy on his stupid teenage dick and his stupid teenage heart.

He realises that he may just be the worst combination of uncontrollably gay, ridiculously romantic and embarrassingly interested in making out with someone. Wash chuckles to himself aloud at the realisation of how fucked he is.

“Dude – are you laughing at me? Because that’s not cool! I totally shot the guy! I should have won! I swear, this game is out to fucking kill me. I swear.” Tucker says, filling the room with a sound other than shooting for the first time in half an hour.

“I wasn’t laughing at you but, still, you totally didn’t get that kill. You have shitty aim.” Wash smirks, sitting up and stretching and probably imagining the way Tucker’s eyes seem to follow his arms. A guy can dream, right?

Tucker kicks the other boy in the leg grumpily and chucks his controller down with the pettiness of a four-year-old. “Fine! You fuckin’ try it. Maybe then you’ll appreciate that it’s hard and I’m doing well.”

“Fine, Tucker, I’m ready to see how terrible it is.” Wash snorts, picking up the controller. In five minutes, he’s completed the level Tucker has been whining about for weeks. He turns to Tucker with a purposefully cocky grin. “Y’know, dude, maybe you’re just shitty at video games.”

“Fuck you, man. I hate you. You’re hot and good at everything and it isn’t fair.” Tucker pouts, kicking Wash’s foot again but leaning into his side.

“True. I’m the best.” He says, calmly. Not like Tucker just called him hot. He wishes that he could delete this crush from his life forever and forget about it completely.

Tucker laughs, oblivious to how his best friend is literally on fire inside and out and not seeing the way his heart swells at the way he giggles. “I mean, yeah. You are the best. But maybe chill a little? I’m honoured to have you as my best friend and all, especially since you can do my school work for me but dude. Really. You’re so smart and athletic and a billion other cool things. Leave some talent for the rest of us, dickhead.”

“I’ll try.” Washington smiles, looking over at Tucker and seeing something so unbelievably soft and fond in his expression as a blush rises to his cheeks.

It’s then that he remembers that, even before wanting to kiss him, Wash wants Tucker to know him. Everything about him. Tucker knows that Wash hates heights and loves thunderstorms and is mildly allergic to peanuts. He knows that Wash has two moms and he knows Wash has been bullied for that. He knows that he has a birthmark on his ass, knows that he wheezes when he laughs, knows that he is so scared of war that it embarrasses him to be from a military family. He knows Wash’s favourite food and colour and so many things that make him who he is. Tucker knows him like Wash is half of Tucker – as though if he didn’t know Wash he wouldn’t fully know himself.

Logic can get fucked, Wash thinks. This is what’s right.

“Tucker. I need to tell you something.” Wash begins. One foot in front of the other with no clue which way he’s travelling, but a start is a start.

Unsurprisingly to Wash, Tucker turns himself to sit facing towards him. Confusion is etched onto his face with a hint of worry, too, and it is obvious Tucker can tell that this is serious. It’s instinct to him to know when something is up with Wash. “Yeah, dude, what is it? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know, ‘Vern. Thank you. But, uh… Shit. I have no clue where I’m going with this.” Wash laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. Tucker smiles at him encouragingly, completely and utterly patient. “Well. Y’know how I trust you. More than anyone on this planet. I need to tell you that there’s something I’ve been keeping to myself for a long, long time. And it’s not your fault that I haven’t said anything about it! Don’t think I don’t trust you. I do. I mean, I haven’t told _anyone_ this and I kinda just figured it our recently and-“

“You’re rambling.” Tucker interrupts softly. He pushes his confusion aside and looks at Wash softly, placing a smaller, darker hand over his large and pale ones. “Just tell me, okay? I promise it’s fine. Unless you’ve murdered someone. Then I’ll be pissed and have to help you hide a body.”

Washington does the impossible then – he smiles. He’s scared shitless at having to say his confession aloud and through it all, Tucker still forces a smile from him. The dude has to have some voodoo magic or something to bring this much joy from him. Getting back on track, Wash takes a deep breath. He looks into Tucker’s eyes; warm and deep and so caring it hurts. He takes another breath. He thinks about the cliff he’s about to jump off. Thinks about how he’ll either sink or swim. He speaks.

“I’m gay, Tucker. I like guys. Only guys.” He jumps the metaphorical cliff and the words come out and, holy _shit_ , Wash has never felt a stronger sense of relief in his life. It’s as though a flooding dam just burst inside of him.

“Oh.” Tucker says. He blinks once, twice, three times and Washington waits in the metaphorical ocean to see if he’ll sink or swim. To see if he’s fucked or not. He waits an eternity.

(He waits forty-seven seconds.)

“Okay, dude. Cool. It’s… Really fucking nice that you trust me enough to tell me that sort of stuff before you tell it to anyone else.” Tucker says. He smiles at Wash and moves to sit beside him again, sitting so close that he rests his head on Washington’s shoulder and the rest of their bodies align. Wash notices the calming effect it has on him instantly and realises that Tucker did that just for that reason. He realises how well they fit together.

“You’re… You’re not bothered?” Wash asks, lingering anxiety making itself known. Stupid question, Wash knows. Tucker is transgender and makes it _clear_ he’s open with sexuality. That doesn’t make him any less anxious.

“Do you remember the day I came out with my name? When I first said I wanted to be called Lavernius?” Tucker asks softly.

“Of course I do, ‘Vern.” Wash says, tilting his head in confusion. “I said it was a gorgeous name because it is. It fits you and it’s perfect and unique. You know I think that.”

Tucker smiles, somehow moving closer to Wash in a way that’s literally cuddling. Great. Half romantic half platonic cuddling is just what he needed in his crush crises. But hey, it feels nice. “Do you remember what else happened, Davie?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. How could I forget? Jake Harvard, Frankie Baker and a few other assholes were making fun of you for it. They said it was an awful name, said you were a girl, said so many other awful things. You cried on me at lunch. I broke Jake’s nose after school.” Wash says, unable to stop a slight smirk from spreading onto his face. The fuckers thought twice about saying anything to Tucker after that.

“Yeah. You got suspended. For _me,_ David. You broke a guy’s nose and got suspended to look after _me._ I swear, I knew from that day on that you’d do anything for me. I knew you’d always have my back. And I knew from that day that I’d do the same for you. Through fucking everything. I don’t give a shit that you want to date guys. I’m still your wingman.”

At that moment, Wash has a thought. ‘I am going to fall in love with Lavernius Tucker and I can’t do shit about it.’ It races through his mind and he knows as soon as he thinks it that it’s true. He knows some things in life are inevitable. He’s sixteen and Tucker is fourteen and they have their whole lives ahead of them and Wash knows that. But he knows, in that moment, that he’s going to fall in love with his best friend. He knows it and it’s clear as day. It makes sense. It makes sense because he’s David and Lavernius is Lavernius and why the hell wouldn’t he love Tucker, when Tucker is everything to him?

He pushes the thought aside.

“Thank you, ‘Vern. So much. It means… More than I can say.”

Tucker smiles. “Don’t even think about it. Now, let’s quit with the sappy shit and play Mario Kart, yeah? I love you and I’m proud of your gay self and all that, but I still have to beat your ass at Rainbow Road. I have my priorities straight.”

“Oh, it is so on. I’m still gonna beat you.” Wash laughs. “I always do.”

“Pft, you wish, Wash. You wish.”


	7. shark bite

A month after the fake date (otherwise known as Wash’s Number 1 Worst Plan) and David is tidying his apartment in preparation for probably another huge mistake – getting drunk with Tucker for the first time since the incident on his birthday. On the bright side, it’s not _just_ Tucker drinking with him. Alone. Intoxicated. Probably looking hot and god, Wash needs to stop thinking about this. The point is that there’s going to a be a small group of friends over so that at least should stop his drunken self from attempting to hook up with Tucker there and then. He hopes.

Grif and Simmons, for whatever reason, lounge on his couch an hour early. Asshole guests arriving for free food, probably. Or definitely, as Grif rolls his eyes at Simmons while shoving another cookie in his mouth. To nobody’s surprise, they’re bickering. Wash dusts a shelf while Ari attempts to trip him up and thinks to himself that if a day went by without those two men arguing, the sky would turn green and the ground would split open. They love each other, though. They just have a… strange way of showing it.

“So, hey, Wash.” Grif says, his mouth full of food. Wash moves onto the next shelf and chuckles as he hears Simmons slap the other man’s hand and scold him for being a pig. “Simmons – fuck off – dude – let me _eat._ Anyway. Wash.”

“Hm?” Wash smirks in amusement, ignoring the nice sort of pain in his heart as he looks at a photo of Tucker and him at a friend’s party. Tucker is smiling at the camera and Wash is smiling at Tucker. It’s a depressingly common theme in photos of the two of them.

“I need to ask you something.” Grif says. What’s unusual to Wash is that he sounds serious. No sarcasm, no joke in his voice. It’s worrying. Wash turns his head towards him and raises an eyebrow in question.

“So, Wash, Washington, my dude… When the _fuck_ are you gonna tell Tucker you wanna bone him?”

“Grif!” Simmons squawks, slapping his boyfriend on the arm again.

“Nu-uh, Simmons, no way. Wash has gotta be confronted about this! He’s been making goo-goo bedroom eyes at Tucker for the past, like, a billion years!”

David sighs so hard his lungs collapse and runs a hand through his previously styled hair. That was becoming a habit these days. “Is it really that obvious?”

Grif jumps up from his chair and practically whoops in victory, and Wash takes a moment to be in awe. He recalls that the last time he saw Grif move that fast it was to run to a free buffet at an eight-year old’s birthday party. “I fucking knew it! I knew it, didn’t I Simmons! You’re in love with Tucker!”

Wash sighs again and he’s so sure that being in love with Tucker is going to turn him grey and give him a premature heart attack. He never thought the phrase “love hurts” could be so fucking literal. With Ari and Skylar both now following behind him, Wash walks slowly to sit in a chair opposite Grif and Simmons. Steadily, he looks at the couple and sees all eager, expecting eyes in return. Grif looks like a kid on Christmas ready to open his first present, with light brown eyes gleaming. Simmons at least manages to mask his excitement slightly, but it’s still there. Still shining behind thick rimmed glasses and ginger hair flopping over green eyes.

“Yes,” Wash starts. He’s weary already after only one word. “I love Tucker. Yes, I have for years. Yes, I have kissed him-“

“Wash - when?!” Simmons exclaims suddenly before Grif clasps his brown hand over Simmons’ pale and freckled skin.

“No questions till I’ve finished.” Wash says before he has to start again. “We kissed at his birthday. He doesn’t remember. I will murder you in your sleep if you bring it up to him. And finally, I am not telling him that I love him. He has a boyfriend and he’s happy; he doesn’t need to make himself feel guilty about my pent up gay feelings. Okay?”

“...Bro. What the fuck?” Pouts Grif. Yeah. _Pouts._ David Washington has a grown-ass man _pouting_ on his sofa. He’s way too sober for this and so is Grif, to be quite honest. “You love him though! And he probably loves you! C’mon. Haven’t you seen how he looks at you? And how he talks about you?”

 

“I’ve seen how he looks at, talks to and kisses his boyfriend, Grif. That’s enough. Don’t bring it up to him. Or anyone else.” Wash says. He makes his voice cold and emotionless, as though he’s a robot. Or the human equivalent of a rock. He speaks sternly as though he’s talking as a soldier and he watches the effect it has on the couple before him almost immediately.

  
After a short pause and a sigh and Grif eating some more of his food, Simmons is the one to speak. “Alright, Wash. We won’t say anything. Sorry. But- I don’t know. You’d make him happy. But I guess you do that enough already. Sorry this has to happen to you.”

The soldier demeanour fades from Wash as quickly as it appeared and he smiles, shrugging slightly. “You get used to it.”

An uncomfortable and miserable silence settles over his apartment then, making the place he spent so long cleaning and tidying feel cramped and dirty again. He hates how easy it is for others to see that he loves Tucker. He hates that he can’t control it. He hates that his love is too big for his body and insists on escaping him, crawling out of his ribcage and flowing from his veins and becoming visible to every person he meets. A part of him hates that it’s not visible to Tucker. He almost hates that he loves Tucker in the first place. But he doesn’t – out of all the things Wash manages to hate about himself, his love for Tucker is never truly one of them.

Wash decides that the best plan of action right now is to get a beer.

Some higher being decides to give Wash a break for once and luckily, people start arriving all at once. The silence is dusted away and it’s okay again. Soon, his friends are gathered close and are drinking and laughing and the sound of it quietens his anxieties, soothing his mind at least for a while. He ignores the glances shared between Grif and Simmons.

North and York sit together, as always, with North’s arm around the back of a sofa and across his boyfriend. Carolina sits next to York with her feet draped across his lap despite his protests and with her head leaning back on Kimball’s lap as she perches on the arm of the chair. Kimball rolls her eyes, snorting at the over-exaggerated wink her girlfriend sends in her direction. Grif stays in the kitchen ‘guarding’ the food and beer for a while as Simmons chats with Doc about _something_ nerdy. Texts from others say they can’t arrive last minute, and Wash is almost glad for that by the time Tucker and Caboose arrive. It’s a lot more crowded than expected.

And despite all the other’s in the room, Tucker heads straight to Wash. And hugs him.

“Dude! Hey.” He says happily as his arms wrap tightly around the taller man. “Sorry I couldn’t hang out on Tuesday. I missed you.”

Wash laughs and hugs Tucker back, praying he doesn’t hear the thumping of his heart in his chest. “It’s been a week at most since you last saw me. And we text each other literally every day.”

“Whatever, man. Still missed you.” He squeezes Wash once more before letting go and immediately grabbing a beer. “But let’s move on from the sappy shit because Tucker is now here, and the party can finally fuckin’ start!”

“Caboose is here too!” The brunette adds, smiling from ear to ear as he sits on the floor. At almost 6”4, he’s way too tall – and way too strong – to be sat crossed legged like a little kid. Apparently that doesn’t matter though.

Unsurprisingly, sobriety doesn’t last long for most. Within a few hours, at least half of his previously lively friends turn into giggling children with too much alcohol in their systems. North doesn’t like to drink and has a very high tolerance for alcohol even when he does, but that doesn’t make up for the mess that is his boyfriend. York and Carolina (who is equally as drunk) sit on the floor on opposite sides of Wash’s coffee table. They’re 8 rounds into an arm wrestling match and the current score is 7-1 to Carolina but York will be damned before he gives in to her. Kimball sits next to Carolina with her head lolling on the redhead’s shoulder and the look on her face almost makes Wash’s heart ache. For someone usually so collected and stoic, she’s smiling up at Carolina with all love and light and warmth and honey.

Grif is trying to kiss Simmons drunkenly and laughing out a cackle of pure joy when his almost-husband groans and weakly attempts at pushing him away. Caboose is completely sober but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s constantly on some different pane of existence to the rest of them. Example: he’s currently talking to the giggling, more-than-tipsy Doc about his plan to become president of the moon. Or something like that. Wash is verging on drunk himself and doesn’t really know what’s going on, and nor does he wish to attempt to decipher it.

Tucker is drunk. For sure. But he’s a type of drunk that makes it even harder for Wash to resist kissing him.

He’s the soft kind of drunk. He’s easy smiles and easy laughter and easy love. He’s proving all those things at once as he leans his whole body against Wash’s and laughs at some shitty joke made by York as he arm wrestles Carolina unsuccessfully. He proves it as he not so tactfully steals Wash’s beer off of him and takes a long drink, all while keeping the same cocky smirk and giggling at the end. Literally giggling. He proves it as, when everyone starts to leave with their designated sober driver, he cuddles into Wash closer than before, as though Wash is some hurricane shelter during the worst storm possible.

“I’m not leaving, m’dude. Too comfy. Too drunk. Too tired. I wanna stay.” He mumbles and Wash smiles so much that his face hurts because that means more time with Tucker and more time happy and safe and more time where his apartment feels like a home.

He says his final drunken goodbyes before returning to the couch where Tucker sits. As soon as his ass makes contact with the couch, Tucker is practically sat on him again and their lips are so close that it steals all the air from the room and leaves Wash gasping internally. Tucker turns into an affectionate drunk more than ever when it’s just the two of them. He smiles up at Wash and there’s the _something_ , more open than ever but still unreadable. It’s masked in the brown of his eyes that seems warmer than usual, somehow, as though a campfire is hidden behind it. It’s in the dimples by his smile that shows the _something_ and the way that his smile doesn’t gleam, it glows like starlight. It’s the softness in his voice when he speaks and god, Wash is too drunk for this.

They talk for a long while until tiredness weighs on both of them and Tucker makes the decision that, yes, he’s prepared to sleep on the couch instead of getting a taxi home. He says it’s for the free breakfast in the morning.

“God,” Wash grumbles drunkenly, words spilling out of his mouth too easily. “You’re gonna miss me when I’m fuckin’- off… Being some sort of war hero somewhere.”

In his equally drunken state, Tucker doesn’t flinch at the words. He doesn’t panic at the mention of war. He just pouts and kicks Wash’s leg, speaking “Free breakfast, Wash. I wan’ it.”

“Yeah, the free breakfast that you’re making yourself, asshole. You know I sleep in after hangovers.” Wash sighs, still unbearably close to Tucker’s face.

“C’mon, Davie, you love me enough to make breakfast for me.” Tucker smiles and bats his eyelashes at him, looking as close to a model as anyone else Wash has ever seen in his life.

“Do I?” Wash retorts, smirking slightly and finding himself looking – no, staring – at Tucker’s lips.

“Do you?” Comes the response, quiet and almost cautious. A hint of _something_ there that isn’t soft in the same way his smile was before. A _something_ that is harder to place and comes along with Tucker biting his lips in a way that is much too fucking attractive.

The moment lasts a lifetime. Wash staring at Tucker’s lips and Tucker staring _somewhere,_ God knows where and God probably doesn’t care at all. The _something_ spreads through the room and for a moment, Wash finds his hands reaching to Tucker’s waist. He imagines kissing Tucker now and never stopping, not for anything. He imagines biting Tucker’s lip and kissing his neck and, shit, he imagines holding his hand.

Tucker pulls away.

Washington wonders which of the two of them had leaned in.

***

Wash walks through to his kitchen for the first time the next day at 12:57 PM, with Tucker gone and his hangover mainly cured. Half way through making his first coffee of the day, though, he sees a bag that is unmistakably Tucker’s. A bag that contains about 90% of the things Tucker needs on a daily basis.

“Goddammit. I guess I’m acting as the delivery man today then, huh.” Wash grumbles to himself. He acts unhappier than he actually is at the prospect of seeing Tucker again because, after the previous night, he knows he has to tone down his gay.

Tucker has a boyfriend. Wash cannot make out with a guy with a boyfriend.

That doesn’t stop him from wanting to, though.

After a quick shower and change, Wash gets into his car and drives quickly to Tucker’s house. His family are all away for the month so, in a way, it’s eerily quiet. Except for the unknown vehicle parked outside where Wash’s own car would usually go. Jackass neighbours taking up every available spot, probably. He walks to the front door and knocks a few times, only to find nobody answers and that the door is unlocked. Which probably means Tucker is passed out somewhere.

Chuckling at the thought, Wash steps inside the house that has been a second home to him for so long. “Hello?” He calls out. No response. Bumping from what sounds like the living room. “Tucker? Lavernius. I know you’re in there. If you’re trying to scare me, fuck off. I’ve only had one cup of coffee.”

Washington is met with nothing except bumping for a minute and he doesn’t dare step in yet. The bumping then is followed by some sort of sound that makes Wash cringe as he walks to the door. He places his hand on the door’s old handle and takes a deep breath.

“Tucker. If you’re literally banging in there I will drink bleach. I will take a bath with a toaster. Okay?”

From inside the room, he hears a chuckle. It doesn’t sound like Tucker but hey, a sound is a sound and a sound means a person. Tucker always did have a weird hangover voice too, come to think of it. He pushes the handle down and the door opens as it should, as it always does.

Washington regrets opening it immediately.

Felix is laying on his back on the couch, shirtless, head thrown back and mouth open. Groans and grunts escape from his throat and his hands twist into the dark dreadlocks of the man on top of him, neon orange fingernails standing out dangerously. Felix bucks his hips up sharply and the man on top groans, swearing in a deep voice.

The man on top of Felix isn’t Tucker.

The man on top of Felix is someone called Locus, apparently, judging by the _filthy_ moan Felix lets out as the dark skinned man bites at the skin of his neck.

And, recovering from the shock of the situation, Washington’s blood boils. It turns into lava. Wash is a dormant volcano turned active and he fucking _explodes._

“Get out. Get the fuck out of Tucker’s house. Get the fuck out!” He yells, hands clenched into fists at his sides and his eyes glued painfully to the tangle of bodies in front of him. “You – Felix – you’re a fucking monster. How dare you? Tucker trusted you. Tucker almost _loved_ you. And all you’ve done is manipulate and fool him and now you’re going to break him. And you enjoy it, don’t you?”

Felix sits up, pushing the larger body of the man off of him. Felix sits up as though he has all the time in the world. He stretches slowly, tilts his head in a way that clearly shows the dark bite marks left upon his skin. Golden eyes meet Wash’s grey and Felix _smiles._ He smiles. The shark grin is there and it’s not hidden, not disguised, not masked; it’s proud. And here it is: the poison. The venom Washington had been waiting for. The heartbreak awaiting his best friend. The shark grin's bite.

“And you – whatever the fuck you’re called. Locus, right? I imagine you know what you’re doing here. I imagine you know that this is the house of his boyfriend. You are just as sick as him. Now both of you – get the fuck out before I drag you out.” Wash growls, literally _growls_ , almost animal-like instincts taking over with the need to look out for Tucker.

“So, Wash. You’re planning on telling Tucker about this, right?” Felix says, amusement obvious in his voice. So obvious that Wash has to hold back from punching the short fucker. “He won’t believe you. Like you said, he’s practically in love with me. Shame.”

Wash laughs. It’s bitter and feels like acid in his throat.

“You think so, Felix? Because Tucker is and has been my best friend most of his life. We have been through everything together. In the end, when it comes down to it, I know him and I love him more than you ever will or would ever even be capable of. So get the fuck out of his life. You won’t fucking be missed. He deserves the world, and you? You’re poison that he’ll forget about. You’re not special.”

Felix stares at him, never once flinching. And in the end, his only response is to shrug and stand. He remains silent and cold as he walks out of the room, out of the house, Locus trailing behind him like some shadow or bodyguard. Not without satisfaction, Wash notices the shark grin has been wiped from Felix’s face. He notices that Felix, for once, has no cocky, self-centred retort. For once, he keeps his mouth shut.

The two men leave the house and climb into what David had presumed was a neighbour’s car.

Wash takes great pleasure in slamming the door behind them.


	8. heartbreak and a whole lot of denial

“Fuck.”

That’s all Washington can say. He’s left alone in his best friend’s home, shaking with anger, shaking with fear and glaring daggers into the door he just slammed. If he could have his way, those metaphorical daggers would be going straight into Felix’s gut right now. And Locus’ too, for that matter.

Anger is red and blinding and it makes his stomach churn and head spin because, Christ, how dare they? He knew from day one that there was something off about Felix. Each word and gesture from him was too smooth, too calculated, too pre-prepared. Scripted, almost. Felix, award winning actor, a-grade heartbreaker and piece of shit. The whole time, across their entire relationship, Felix had been nothing but a filthy liar.

A fucking snake.

A _shark._

Each word said to Tucker was a lie. Every romantic gesture and sweet text used to manipulate him. He imagines Tucker finding out about this, having hope, trust and even love crushed in an instant

The anger fades to heartbreak and Wash is drowning in a sea of blue. Tucker doesn’t deserve this, he thinks. Tucker deserves safety and love and everything good in this whole heartless universe and Wash wants to give that to him.

But instead, Washington has to deliver the news that will break Tucker’s heart – the news that the guy he was falling in love with is a filthy cheater, scumbag and a liar.

“Fuck,” Wash repeats.

He considers just not telling him for a moment. Allowing Tucker to stay happy and blissfully unaware of what had happened. This wouldn’t be _lying_ to Tucker, technically. It’d just be avoiding the whole truth. It’d be the easiest way to keep his best friend happy, Wash reasons.

Until he remembers that this would just leave Tucker happy until he became the one catching Felix about to fuck some other guy. Not a full proof plan there, David. Plus – that would give Felix the satisfaction of having won. Wash’s pride wouldn’t allow for that. He realises that not telling Tucker would only be to help himself and knows that that’s unfair, but he can’t help it.

Imagine telling a kid that Santa isn’t real and then throwing their new bicycle into a fire. That’s what hurting Tucker would feel like.

He sits down on the couch and shudders at the memory of what just happened on it, feeling filthy from even being in the same room where Felix had just cheated on his best friend. He gets his phone and stares at it as though doing so will solve all his problems, as though the phone can magically tell Tucker everything without Wash having to say a word.

“God,” Wash says to the empty room. “This is awful. This is such bullshit.”

It takes him ten minute of almost giving up and chickening out before he rings Tucker, tapping his fingers rapidly against his leg as he waits for the asshole to pick up.

“Yo, Wash,” Tucker’s voice, so happy and bright, startles Wash and breaks his heart at the same time. “What’s up?”

“Uh, hey, man. You… Can you come to yours, please? I’m there now. We need to talk.” Wash says and hears the anxiety in his own voice.

“…Dude. What’s the big deal?” Tucker asks, the tone of his voice tense and showing he knows that, whatever this is, it’s serious. “Whatever it is you can tell me over the phone.”

“Tucker, I-“

“No, Wash. Whatever you can say to me face to face, you can say to me now. Come on, dude. Don’t fuck with me. Is this about you going into the army? Because, I know man, and you know I’m not ready to talk about that yet. I know you’re leaving soon and all, but no. Not yet.” He rambles, stressed and trying so hard to push away a conversation before it begins.

“’Vern.” Wash says softly. The voice reserved for Tucker and Tucker only, as well as the nickname, seems to get the other’s attention. “It’s not about the army. We need to speak about that, but not now. It’s about Felix. He-… I caught him cheating on you with someone named Locus. Just now, pretty much.”

He speaks slowly and gets to the point quickly, like ripping off a bandage. It doesn’t make things any easier.

Tucker laughs in disbelief, half-faked amusement in his voice. “You’re kidding, right? I know you don’t like Felix but this is a little much.”

“Lavernius. You know me. You know I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I… I am beyond sorry. I walked into your living room and he was there. Some guy, his name was Locus, was on top of him. You have no idea how sorry I am.” He says, quiet and anxious.

“Locus – but. No. Felix said they were over. No, Wash, please. Tell me you’re fucking with me.” Tucker says, words rushing from his mouth now. There’s a long pause because Wash knows, as much as he wants to, he can’t protect Tucker from this.

“David,” Tucker continues. “I’m coming over. I need to see you say this. I’ll be there soon.”

The call drops. Washington puts his head in his hands and groans into the quiet of the house, wondering how the fuck his life has come to this point. In love with his best friend, due to go to the army, so many other things all at once. He just wants a fucking break.

Tucker arrives fifteen minutes later.

The door slams open and Wash lifts his head quickly, alert and watching as his friend storms in. To put it simply, he looks like shit. He’s visibly on edge, emotions coiled up inside himself like a spring. Ready to break. Tucker sits on the couch across from Washington.

“Dude.” He starts. It’s as though everything is okay, at first. “Please tell me this is a joke now. It’s not funny. Please tell me it’s a fucking joke.”

Wash takes a moment to study him because Tucker is still beautiful in the most heart-breaking way. It’s as though he is watching the moment before a car crash. Tucker’s fidgeting constantly, tapping his foot, drumming his fingers on his leg, shifting slightly on his seat, like he’s turned into a livewire. His eyes are wide and panicked and catching the light, turning them to gold. Not gold like Felix, but gold like safety and home.

“Vern… I’m sorry. I can’t tell you it’s a joke. I know you care about Felix, and I know you know that I… Well. I don’t. But I can’t lie to you about anything, let alone something as serious as this.” Wash starts, preparing the speech in his head as quickly as possible. It’s long and optimistic and sounds like it belongs on a yoga work out video, but that’s okay, as long as it works.

He never gets the chance to use it.

Tucker moves forward, closing most of the space between them in one swift movement so sudden that Wash is robbed of breath.

“David. Shut up. I know you’re planning something to try and help me but, no, I don’t want that. Just – look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. I’ll know if you’re lying or not. Please.” Tucker says, practically begging and Wash can feel his own heart, Tucker’s heart, _both_ of their hearts beating as one and both about to snap.

“Tucker.” Wash says quietly, taking a deep breath. He looks straight at the other man, right into dark eyes that feel like home and tries to keep himself steady. “Felix cheated on you. Here, in this room, with a guy called Locus. I am so, so sorry.”

And then comes the inevitable – Tucker crumbles.

At first, it’s anger. Shock. Tucker cursing loudly and calling Felix every name under the sun and turning away from Wash when the blond reaches out to him. It’s denial and saying that there has to be something else, something to make sense of it. It’s him tugging at his own hair and trying to make sense of everything because ‘ _Felix cared, he wasn’t always the nicest but he cared he wouldn’t do this, this isn’t him.’_

And then, finally, it’s tears.

Tucker rests his head in his hands and, at first, Washington doesn’t realise whats going on. He assumes that Tucker is gathering his thoughts. He thinks that he’s getting himself together. Then he sees the man’s shoulders shaking and hears the unmistakable sound of crying.

“Vern…” Wash says softly, before realising there’s no words for this. He’s facing a situation that he can’t fix immediately and that terrifies him. “Do… Should I stay?”

Tucker doesn’t reply, but he nods and that’s good enough for Wash. “Do you want some space?”

Again, Tucker doesn’t speak. This time he shakes his head. Right, okay, Wash thinks, he wants company. Wash can do that. He wishes more than anything he could press some buttons or wave a wand to fix it all but he can’t, because some things, things like this, are unfixable. So he compromises. He tries to fix things one step at a time.

He moves closer to Tucker again and wraps an arm around his shoulders, steady and grounding. “I’m here, Tucker. Not going anywhere. You cry this shit out, because Felix is a fucking prick and you deserve so much better than that. I’m with you though it all, because...”

There’s a pause then, with words – specifically three words Wash has wanted to say for years – being left unsaid.

“Because you’re my best friend.” Wash finishes. Tucker sits up then and wipes at his eyes silently before manoeuvring himself so that he’s curled up on the couch, pressed against Wash’s side with his face buried in the other man’s shirt.

He stays there, with Washington’s arms around him, with one of Wash’s hands running through his hair, for hours. He stays there and cries until part of Wash’s shirt is soaked through and until he has no more tears left to cry. He stays because he feels safe and because his life is an earthquake and right now, Washington is the shelter.

 “Will- Will you stay over tonight?” Tucker whispers in a broken voice when he finally lifts his head, his eyes puffy and red from crying.

Washington wants to kiss him. He thinks that it must be bad to want to kiss your best friend after they’ve spent hours crying into your shirt, but that doesn’t change shit. He want to take Tucker’s face in his hands and kiss all the hurt away, kiss him until all he knows is Wash’s lips and his own moving against each other, kiss him until the only word he knows is Washington’s name and all traces of Felix are gone from his memory.

Obviously, he doesn’t do that.

“Yeah, of course I can. Let me go grab some stuff from my place and I’ll be right back, yeah?” He says, moving Tucker back gently and standing up.

“Alright, yeah.” He replies.

Wash stands and ruffles Tucker’s hair, smiling to himself slightly at the smile it manages to pull from Tucker. “I won’t be long. We can watch some shitty movies when I get back. Like the sleepovers we had when we were kids.”

Tucker nods, wiping at his eyes once more. “Thank you, Wash. For being here for me. I don’t… I haven’t been the best friend recently. So thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And if Tucker notices that Washington has blood on his knuckles when he comes back with his stuff, he doesn’t say anything. And if Felix texts him rapidly and angrily about his “crazy best friend” that “showed up at his apartment and broke his nose,” he does what Wash told him to – he doesn’t mention it.

They spend the rest of the night as if they were teenagers again – playing video games, watching movies, gossiping and trying as hard as they can to forget everything about the rest of the day. Each time Tucker smiles or even laughs, Washington counts that as a personal victory. He’s still hurting, but fighting through it already.

Lavernius Tucker is a fucking fighter, and Wash loves that about him.

***

They decide to share a bed for the night. It’s nothing new to them, but the thought of it still makes Wash’s stomach flip. Close quarters with the guy he loves, just like every movie cliché ever. Of all time.

And it kind of sucks. But at the same time, having Tucker lazily drape his legs across Wash’s and lay close enough that he can feel his breath on his skin is something he doesn’t want to end. Ever. In fact, what he wants now is to roll over on top of Tucker and kiss the fuck out of him, among other things that he needs to stop thinking about because god help him if he gets a boner right now.

He can’t stop thinking about kissing Tucker when he’s this close, though, so he thinks about it in another way. He thinks of kissing him so softly that Tucker wouldn’t even know if it had happened. He thinks about kissing his forehead on mornings to wake him up and being able to make him feel loved. He thinks of this over and over and it hurts because it’s not happening and never will happen, especially with Tucker currently heartbroken, but a guy can dream.

After a long while of comfortable silence between the two of them, a voice speaks up.

“Wash,” Tucker says. “About you going to war and shit…”

“Yeah?” Wash asks, turning on his side to face towards Tucker, trying not to gasp when he finds that they’re practically nose to nose.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He says. Tucker’s eyes are focused and intense, dark brown staring into pale grey. “I know I hate talking about this and I still do, and I seem like an asshole for it. But, dude, you gone from my life for two fucking years isn’t something easy to deal with.”

Wash sighs, wanting to avert his gaze but the seriousness in Tucker’s eyes doesn’t allow him to. “I know it’ll be hard. For both of us. But I’ve spoken to my Mom’s about it, it’s arranged, you know I’ve been meant to join for years.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“I know I don’t have to, Tucker. I’m choosing to. I want this.” He lies. Washington is shit scared of war. He doesn’t want this. He knows what he really wants is an escape, and the army can provide that. He wants to prove himself. He wants to do what he needs to. He’s more than fit enough and already prepared to be the perfect soldier.

“But do you?” Tucker questions. “I know you, and you forget that, dude. You don’t have to do this.”

Tucker’s palm rests on Wash’s cheek and Wash inhales so sharply that it hurts, remaining silent to let Tucker talk.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’d be a kickass soldier if you wanted to be one. But dude, you’re forcing yourself into this. You hate fighting. You… Look. I know your family is all military. But you don’t have to join in on that to make them proud. To make _me_ proud. We are all already so proud of you.”

“Tucker…”

“No, let me finish. I’m proud of you. You’re my best friend. Your moms adore you, they don’t give a shit that you haven’t gone into service. They’re proud. Katie is proud of you. You’re her little brother. And David, no matter what, Anna is proud of you.” He says.

Wash tenses up immediately.

“You don’t have to do this.” Tucker says, practically pleading. “You don’t have to prove yourself this way. Not to me, not to them, not to _her,_ not to anyone. Please. It’s not too late to reconsider this.”

“I’m tired, Tucker. I’m going to sleep.” Wash replies, monotonous. He rolls over to face away from Tucker, eyes set on the wall and forcing back any tears that threated to spill because no, he will not fucking cry in front of Tucker. In front of anyone. That’s his rule. He’ll stick to it.

He’s fine, anyway. Tucker’s wrong. No big deal.

“Wash… David, c’mon, dude. Please.” Tucker pleads, and Wash hears the _something_ in his voice. Wash hears more desperateness that he’s ever heard come from Tucker before. He hears worry and fear, and chooses, no, _forces_ himself to ignore it.

“Night, Lavernius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!! sorry this is such a late update. brain stuff & life stuff have kept me pretty busy. i may try get another chapter out in the next few days but if not, it'll be mid august at the latest for something else to come out since i'm travelling, sorry! thank you all for reading and commenting, i appreciate you all so much <3


	9. a memory (part three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for death + mentions of a panic attack in this chapter

It’s sunny the day of the funeral.

Washington thinks that’s fucking bullshit.

It should be storming. It should be dark. It should be so grey that people forget what colour even looks like because that’s his life now, that’s what he feels like. The sun is too bright it burns and hurts his eyes and the flowers look like they’re plastic. The too-blue sky makes him flinch like an oncoming punch and he has to look away because it’s not fair. How can the world still be so bright and happy and alive when his sister is fucking dead?

And how _dare_ people call it a hero’s death?

There is no such thing as a hero’s death. Heroes are people who are alive, not corpses. Heroes are out there in the world doing things and living and breathing. They’re constant and moving and changing and _not fucking dead._ You can’t be a hero six feet under. All you are then is a memory. All you are is heartbreak to the people that are still alive and have to learn to cope. And even if a hero’s death could exist – his sister’s death was not one.

His sister’s death was pointless.

He remembers every single detail of finding out the news. Ingrained into his memory permanently no matter how much he wants it out. He wants it gone and forgotten and he’s sixteen years old but would be more than happy to ke up and find this was all some sick nightmare, would be more than happy to curl up by his mothers’ sides and cry it all out. Except he can’t wake up from something that isn’t a dream.

Being from a military family, they all knew what was coming when they opened the door. None of them have said that – not David, not his mothers, not Katie, but he knows. He knows that as soon as they saw three officers in uniform and another in a car outside their house, they knew. They felt it in their gut.

Military procedure is that, when informing the family of a deceased love one, there are usually four people involved. One to give news. Another to give support. A medic if someone faints. Someone waiting outside in case someone gets violent. There’s a phrase they have to say, too. A practiced one that they say in every case of a military death. David never thought he’d hear it with Anna’s name there.

The knock on the door before they found out was at 11:30 in the morning. It was such a stupidly normal morning. He remembers. Katie is watching a nature documentary. His mom is making herself pancakes. He’s eating Lucky Charms and texting Tucker. His ma is reading a book in her chair, and Washington remembers her smiling and looking so serene and feeling secure.

Then the knocking.

_taptaptap._

“I’ll get it, love,” His ma calls to the kitchen. Wash remembers catching Katie rolling her eyes at the pet name and smiling at her. Their moms acted like high school sweethearts sometimes.

There’s a gap then, in Washington’s memory, because why the hell should he care that someone’s at the door? Why should he have to expect that his sister is fucking dead and he’s about to get the news? He’s sixteen. He shouldn’t need to worry about those things.

“Laura?” He hears his ma say. Her voice is shaking. He starts paying attention. “Come into the living room. Now, dear.”

The next thing he remembers is staring up at three men dressed perfectly in military uniform, all with grim expressions. One is speaking. The second is looking from his face to the other members of his family. The last is staring at the floor.

“What’s happening?” His mom snaps, not letting the men speak before she gets to say something herself. There’s a knowing in her voice that breaks David there and then.

“Cathy, sweetheart,” His ma interjects, wrapping her arms around her wife and pulling her close. They both know what’s coming. David sees them shaking. “Let the men speak.”

And they do. The first guy, the one who started speaking first, is the one that gives the news.

"I have been asked to inform you that your daughter, Anna Grace Washington, has been reported dead in a location we are currently unable to mention due to the importance of secrecy in The Project she was involved in. She was killed by a landmine while in an armoured vehicle. On the behalf of the Secretary of Defence, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.”

And then he remembers everything falling apart. He hears his sister shouting, cursing, yelling. He hears his mom sobbing and his ma saying that this can’t be happening, this isn’t happening, this should not be happening. He hears the men in front of him offering condolences and trying to calm his sister – his only alive sister now – because she is angry and exploding and self-destructive enough as it is.

He remembers each detail in high definition and in slow motion. He remembers it as though it’s a film he’s watched a thousand times, over and over and over and never stopping, on a loop in his mind. And no matter what he does, he can’t get rid of it. No matter how loudly he plays music through his headphones, he still hears his parents crying. He looks through the family’s possessions in each room a hundred times and it still doesn’t feel like home. He wears five layers of clothing and still feels so fucking cold that he can’t stop himself from shaking. He cannot fix himself.

All of that comes after the news.

In the moment, all he does is stare straight ahead and becomes numb. Numb to the fucking core.

The third man, the one who was staring at the floor, kneels in front of him. He speaks in a soft voice and looks at him with all the pity and heartbreak in the world. “How are you feeling, son? You’re probably in shock. Would you like me to get you a drink?”

“I-“ David starts, forcing himself to get a voice. “I’m going for a walk.”

He stands up and feels disconnected from his body as he walks out of the house, pushing past the men who try to stop him. He watches himself like it’s just some video, as though it’s not him and it’s not really happening. In that moment, he feels laughter bubbling up inside his chest. Which is fucking ridiculous, because his sister, one of his older sisters, is dead. But if he weren’t number than he’d ever been before, he’d have laughed. Because it feels like he’s controlling a character in one of Tucker’s stupid, god forsaken video games.

And then he’s running. He doesn’t know when he started but he’s running as fast as he can and the burning of his lungs desperately gasping for breath is the only reminder that he’s alive. He’s running and he doesn’t know where his feet are taking him until of course, he figures it out.

Tucker.

In tragedy, he runs to Tucker. In joy, he’d run to Tucker, too. He runs to him with his soul controlling him because god does he know that right now, neither his heart or his brain are there to control him. They’re numb and so his he so his soul, whatever the hell that is, is what’s leading him. He runs with all he has left because Tucker is alive still, and he’s Lavernius fucking Tucker and that’s his constant. Tucker is his constant. He is safe and shelter and _that_ is why Washington runs to him.

He’s knocking at the door before he knows what he’s doing, pounding against it loudly and shouting his best friend’s name between gasping for breath. Tucker answers.

Of course he does.

He’s Lavernius fucking Tucker.

“What the hell, dude?” Tucker says. He’s panicked and confused and most of all, worried. Because this is weird. Some logical part of Wash registers that this must be weird. “What’s going on?”

“She’s dead.” He says. Blunt. Emotionless. He hasn’t found his emotions yet.

“Wait – Davie, what? Who? Are you high or something?” More worry in Tucker’s voice.

“No.” Wash says. “Anna. She’s dead. I- We just, uh. We just got told. I ran here.”

Tucker stares in disbelief and that’s when Washington remembers that Anna has been like a sister to him, too.

“Tucker,” he says. Softly this time, because his chest is opening up and caving in on itself all at once. “Lavernius. Vern. She’s dead.”

And then all at once all he knows is that he’s in Tucker’s arms and he can’t breathe and oh, fuck, he’s having a panic attack, and now Tucker is crying and his sister is dead and he just ran away from members of the army and from his sobbing family and, yeah, he’s going to pass out now because of that stupid fucking panic attack he’s having.

That’s what he remembers of the day they found out.

And now, it’s sunny and beautiful outside and birds are singing and he’s at his sister’s funeral dressed in a fancy black suit with his hair combed back in the exact way that Anna used to make fun of.

And it’s unfair.

And it hurts.

And when the pastor starts speaking about her life and legacy and the lives of those around her, he starts to break. His sister has been dead a week and that is approximately 806,400 heartbeats of hers that will never come. So many breaths she will never breathe. People she’ll never meet, songs she’ll never sing, jokes she’ll never laugh at, love she’ll never find. A whole life that she’ll never get to live.

And when he realises that this is permanent and there is nothing he can do, he feels tears welling in his eyes. His sister has been dead a week and this is the first time he’s cried.

And as soon as the first tear falls, he feels someone reach for his hand.

Tucker.

His best friend with dreadlocks tied back neatly, with red eyes from crying and a smart black shirt that doesn’t look right on him at all, because Tucker wears sweaters and shitty graphic tshirts and not suits, never ever fucking suits. His best friend who loved Anna like a sister himself. His best friend who has held him for countless hours in the past week, who hasn’t left his side. His best friend who already has so much to deal with. His best friend who he loves and needs and cannot do this without.

As Washington’s world finally starts to fall apart around him, as it breaks and crumbles and burns and all he can do is watch, Tucker doesn’t cry. Tucker, who has been crying since he first found out, refuses to cry. Tucker pushes back his own tears for Washington’s sake and latches onto Washington’s hand tighter than ever before. As his body is shaken with sobs and is flooded with more grief than any sixteen year old should have to deal with, Tucker stays strong. Tucker remains his constant. Their fingers lock together and fit perfectly, like clockwork, like a lifeline, like all there is left in this awful fucking world. Tucker squeezes his hand tighter. No words are needed, but Tucker still manages to say he loves Wash. Still stays strong. Still promises to stay with him.

Tucker remains Wash’s constant through the breaking.

Wash knows then that Tucker will remain his constant through the healing, and whatever the hell comes after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, as always, and sorry for the wait!! its shorter than usual but i hope you enjoy this. attempted angst. as angst has Never been my strong point. any comments and kudos are so so appreciated <3


End file.
